An Uninvited Guest
by walutahanga
Summary: Set post-Cell games. An old 'friend' crashes Goku's funeral. Yamucha recognises them.


**Title:** An Uninvited Guest

**Author: **walutahanga

**Summary: **Someone crashes Goku's funeral, and Yamucha recognises them.

--

The day was sunny and bright.

Somehow Yamucha wasn't surprised. Goku had been so filled with energy, the idea of his funeral being overcast with rain or subject to a freak blizzard was just unthinkable. In typical Goku-fashion, it wasn't so much a funeral as a barbeque. After a quiet ceremony, the guests had all gathered at Son House to eat and reminince.

"Remember that time with the…?"

"…did you ever hear about when he…"

"…and remember when he…"

Bulma had the food flown in by caterers so Chi-Chi didn't have to cook. Yamucha had been present when it nearly resulted in a clash of the two women's volatile tempers. Chi-Chi had taken offense at Bulma's offer, insisting that she could prepare the food for her own husband's funeral, nevermind that there were dozens of guests. It was so characteristic of Chi-Chi. She was the kind of woman who didn't ask for handouts. She worked for what she got and defended it with the fierceness of a bear. The two women had been almost shouting at one another when Bulma had said;

"_He was my friend, Chi-Chi. Please. Just let me do this one thing for him." _

Instead of arguing, they'd ended up crying on each other's shoulders.

Yamucha had stood outside, feeling deeply uncomfortable and inadequate. Women in general made him nervous. An angry woman put the fear of Kami into him, but a crying woman distressed him on some deep level he couldn't define.

Chi-Chi had vanished several times during the afternoon, ostensibly to 'straighten her hair' or 'get some more eggrolls.' When she came back, her hair was always straightened and the eggrolls arranged on a tray, but her eyes were red from a fresh bout of weeping. Gohan was pale, but holding up. Piccollo was with him, occasionally saying something that sounded uncaring, but seemed to bring some comfort to the boy. Yamcha had always been slightly uneasy about Piccollo, but was prepared to love him for that alone. Vegeta had restrained his level of Vegeta-ness to a low level one, rather than the usual five. Trunks had already departed for the future some days ago.

Other people too had come to pay their respects. Most of them Yamcha didn't recognised. There was a tall Indian man with broad shoulders and a ki-level that was fairly respectable for a regular human.

"Son Goku saved my father's life," he'd said quietly.

The small girl with funny glasses and red hair had caused quite a ruckus at first, because she didn't have a ki signature. Vegeta had wanted to blast her for being an android, but Krillen had stuck up for her until Bulma verified her story that she was in fact one of the good guys. Really, it was amazing how many different lives Goku had touched.

Yamucha was walking towards the snack table when he ran head-on in a woman walking the opposite direction. He caught her without thinking.

"Excuse me…" he said. His voice trailed away as he stared into her face. She looked a few years older than him, and she was beautiful. She had pale aristocratic features, and cool green eyes that were currently glaring at him like an angry cat, triggering a spark of memory. "Do I know you?"

"I should hope so," she said coldly. "Considering where your hands are."

Abruptly he realized he was still holding her by her slender waist. He released her hurriedly.

"Sorry, sorry…"

She sniffed, and stalked away, nose in the air as she straightened her clothes. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, wishing the red in his cheeks would die down. Amazing. Nearly thirty and he still managed to make a fool of himself in front of women.

He glanced after the woman, and froze. As she lifted her wrap, the handle of a gun tucked into her belt was exposed for a brief moment. Then she adjusted the fabric, and it was hidden again. He stood still as the pieces clicked together in his brain. He took the woman's face, pictured it ten or fifteen years younger, and dressed her in black with a sword strapped to her back.

_Shit_.

He moved quickly. He side-stepped an approaching Krillen who was opening his mouth to say something–

– "Not now, Krillen! Emergency!"–

–and strode up behind Mai. He put a hand in the middle over her back, over the hard shape of the gun handle. He felt her whole body tensing in suprise. His lips brushed her hair as he said in a deceptively calm voice;

"Still working for Pilaf, are we, Mai?"

He spotted her left hand darting to the pocket of her jacket, and he caught her wrist with his free hand.

"No surprises," he said. "They won't work on me, and they'll just get you killed."

He quickly scanned the lawn. Puar and Oolong were over at the buffet table. Bulma was talking to Ox-King and hadn't noticed them yet.

"What do you want?" Mai hissed. There was a smile on her moving lips. It looked as if she were saying something in a voice as calm and serene as summer. Not this angry cat's snarl.

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same question." He kept a smile on his face too. He adjusted his grip on her left hand so it looked like he was holding her hand rather than restraining it. He rubbed his thumb idly along her knuckles.

"Strictly recon," she said. "The gun was for protection."

"Since you crashed our party, I'm inclined to view it as a threat."

There was a pause.

"What are you going to do?" She asked quietly, and he realized he didn't know himself.

"Let's go for a walk," he said at last. He put gentle pressure in the middle of her back, propelling her forward. Once he got her out of sight, he could make it clear what an idiotic stunt it was that she'd just attempted …

"Yamucha!" With the worst possible timing, Chi-Chi appeared in front of them, like a demon rising up out of a nightmare. Yamucha sweat-dropped and risked a glance to his left. Bulma was still talking to Ox-King, not paying any attention to what was going on behind her.

"Yamucha, if you are picking up women during my husband's funeral, you are going to be _very_ sorry!"

Chi-Chi's eyes were gleaming with a dangerous red light. The infamous frying pan had mysteriously appeared in her hands. Yamucha gulped and eyed it warily, trying to judge best how to avoid it and keep hold of the deadly assassin at the same time.

"And let go of the poor woman! She's not a side of beef!" Chi-Chi's voice rose to a shriek that echoed across the lawn. Yamucha winced as everyone turned to see what had set her off this time.

"It's not… I'm not…" His face was steadily turning red. He tried to keep his body between Mai and Bulma. If Bulma recognized her, it would all be over apart from the blood splatter.

"Hey," Krillen spoke up. "Maybe she's the one Trunks told us about. Remember? The one who Yamucha-"

Tien and Gohan both dove to cover his mouth. The result was a kind of pile-on affect. Yamucha for his part was confused, and kind of betrayed. Trunks had told them something about his future? But it had had the desired effect on Chi-Chi. The pan of doom had been lowered, and tears were gathering in her eyes.

"Oh," she said. "That's so – " She dabbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just with Goku gone – " She leaned in closer conspiratally. "There's a swing-chair out back. You can have some privacy."

Unable to believe his good fortune, Yamucha said stupidly;

"Thank you."

"Oh don't thank me," she said, waving it away with a smile. A dangerous light suddenly came into her eyes and she whirled on everyone else. "What are you gawking at?" She shouted. "This isn't a show!"

Everyone blanched and returned to whatever conversations they'd been having previously. Chi-Chi shepherded Yamucha and Mai out the back of Son house.

"See, it's very nice out here," she said. "Very private."

Yamucha was uncertain how to take all of this. Chi-Chi was acting very oddly. One minute she was screeching like a banshee. The next she was fussing in a manner that was kind of… disturbing. At least she wasn't crying anymore.

"Thank you, Chi-Chi," he said respectfully.

Chi-Chi nodded.

"Just one moment."

She rolled up her sleeves and waded into the bushes. There was a yelp and squeal, and she emerged, dragging Master Roshi and Oulong by the ears.

"There," she said. "Now it really is private. Take all the time you need."

She dragged the aged hermit and the pig around the side of the house, scolding them soundly. Yamucha stared after her, and realized his mouth was hanging open. He turned to Mai, saying;

"Well that was – "

Mai drove an elbow at Yamucha's stomach, reminding him with a painful thump that she was his enemy. She tore herself loose from his grip, and swung round, driving a punch at his face. It clipped his chin, jarring his jaw and making him see stars for a second.

But by then his wits had caught up and he caught her fist on the next swing. He imprisoned it in his hand, forcing it up high over her head. She drove her free hand at his stomach, and he caught that too, twisting her arm behind her back. That meant his arm was wrapped about her waist and she was pulled up against him.

Her lovely face was inches form his own, and he was momentarily distracted by her angry green eyes – until she leaned back and head-butted him.

"Oww!"

"_Oww_!"

They staggered away from one another, clutching their heads. Him, because he'd kept his ki down, and she was strong for a regular human. Her, because even with his power down, his head was still pretty hard. If Vegeta could see this, he'd probably die laughing at Yamucha nearly bested by a normal human woman. But it was hard fighting humans when you were so powerful. You either used too much force, or not enough. And that problem was made so much worse when it was a woman you were fighting. As nasty as Mai could be, Yamucha still saw a woman, and all the values instilled in him balked at hitting a woman.

"Okay," he said, when the stars had cleared from his vision. "Can we call a truce?"

"Truce," she agreed rather shakily.

They faced each other.

"I told the truth," she said. "I didn't come here to hurt anyone."

"It wasn't everyone else I was worried about," he said dryly.

"You were worried about _me_?" She said, voice filled with scorn. "By Kami, I should kill you for that insult."

She sounded as if the idea of being helpless was foreign to her. Most probably it was too. He guessed she was one of the best martial artists he'd ever come across – out of the variety that didn't fly. Even with his ki down, it should take someone like Master Roshi to land a punch on him.

Too bad Master Roshi was the least of her worries.

"Remember what happened to Goku during a full moon?" He asked.

Mai paled, and he knew he'd hit the mark.

"Well that's the _least_ of what you'll face if the others catch you here. Gohan would probably let you live, but Piccollo and Vegeta would rend you limb from limb."

She looked visibly shaken. He hoped he'd got the message across. Because if she persisted in trying to infiltrate the z-fighters, she'd very quickly end up dead. However, she didn't seem to have quite gotten the hint yet because her expression morphed to one of speculation.

"You are very strong," she said slowly. "Very skilled. I've only met one or two others who could best me…"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm strong. I'm smart. I command power you could only dream of..."

He saw the interest flare in her eyes. He pointed towards the house, in the direction of the funeral.

"…and compared to them, I'm _nothing_. A termite mound next to a mountain. Do you understand now what you risked coming here?"

Mai nodded thoughtfully. In a lightning-swift move, she pulled a dagger from her pocket and flung it at him. It was a move that no regular human could have followed, much less intercepted. He caught it reflexively, the point quivering an inch before his face.

"Yes," Mai said softly. "I'm begginning to understand now."

Yamucha flared his ki in a small burst, melting the dagger. It was a childish display of power, but he was irritated she'd thrown it at him in the first place. It was immensely satisfying to see her eyes widen in shock and a hint of fear.

"Who are you?" She said softly, and he realized that she hadn't recognised him. But then why should she have? He'd been a teenager when they first met. Still young and stupid, and stricken into terrified paralysis in equal parts by her killing skills and mature beauty.

"Just call me the Bandit," he said, using the old pseudonym on impulse. Her green eyes narrowed in recognition.

"The highway robber," she said. It was a piece of his past he preferred not to dwell on. It had been a long time since he'd had to ambush tourists for survival. He turned away.

"You should leave now," he said over his shoulder as he began to walk away.

"Wait."

He turned back reluctantly.

"Is it true then?" She said curiously. "Is Son Goku really dead?"

That was all she cared about, Yamcha knew. No doubt Pilaf had kept tabs on the young were-monkey for years, and wanted to make absolutely sure that loose thread was tied up permenantly.

"Yes," he said, the word forced raw and dry from his throat. Mai watched him carefully.

"It wasn't Hercule who saved us," she said. "Was it."

"No."

Yamcha waited a moment longer to see if she had anything further to add. The breeze ruffled the lawn between them. She shifted stance subtly, sweeping her hair forward in a dark shining curtain, casting shadows across the elegant pale contours of her face. Her slanting green eyes were dark in that shadow and expectant on him, as if waiting for him to do or say something.

But Goku was dead, and the others were waiting for him. Yamcha turned away from Mai and walked back to his friend's funeral.


End file.
